Erased
by Nacho06
Summary: Brooklyn Minx was always soft-spoken under Candor law, giving Peter Hayes, a more than less passive bully, no surprise at her faction of choice. He was once a part of her memories, until he is erased forever. And so he escapes to Dauntless where he just might be able forget her as well. But when her faction is threatened, what limits will he push?
1. Chapter 1

**So, this is my first Divergent Fanfiction! I swore to myself I wouldn't push it this far, but gosh darn't that stupid movie gave me so much inspiration to write. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy it. It is a Peter Hayes Fanfiction; yes, it really is. If you have a problem, take it somewhere else...or just don't go prying around these parts of town? Chances are though, you are here because you want to be. First things first, this will be (planning to be, more like) outstretched throughout all three books as I re-read all of them for memory's sake. I appreciate all critical (meaning without acerbity) reviews and any mistakes you have spotted. Thanks for taking the time to read and I hope you come to enjoy it!**

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Candor, the Faction of Honesty, the Faction of neutrality between good and evil, the Faction of smart mouths and the reading of body language. The Faction that lying is most utilized than claimed. Their symbolic colors of black and white provide a figurative "one or the other" code, but few could see through it. Brooklyn Minx, Candor teenager of only fourteen, might know a thing or two. Ever since school started long, long ago, ever since she met the first outsider: A girl of science from Amity, ever since she met her best friend who was practically a Dauntless at heart, ever since she met her faction, she knew Candor was not who she wanted to be.

_ Dauntless_, the brave.

_ Abnegation_, the selfless.

_ Amity_, the peaceful.

_ Erudite_, the intelligent.

That's what she wanted to be.

Before her brain could develop such stringent opinions about her family faction, it was her older sister who first recognized the faults of free speech. She always believed Candor were for those who wanted no excuse to be cruel, or for those who had a problem with what to say and when to say it. Although being a good three years apart from her sister, Brooklyn understood more and more as the kids started to get comfortable with their entitlement, claiming that her sweet conduct was only an act of duplicity against others.

"_It's not an act_," she would say with a bubble of frustration. But whenever she bottled up her anger, they would just dance around chanting that she let it out: how she really felt about them. _No_, she always told herself,_ I won't drop to my knees for them_.

Sometimes you didn't have to play innocent to commit such a terrible crime, which took them a while to figure out. There was an abundant amount like her, in fact, they just masked this with an exaggeration of violence. In Candor, violence is not encouraged, but anger is connected with true feelings, therefore honesty. However, even in their small acts of rebellion they dared not do anything about it. And so, their masked feelings, deep down and hidden, had never been strong enough to surface.

Including Brooklyn's, regardless of the times she "joked" about transferring into another faction when the time came. Peter Hayes, who else if not him, was the central antagonist of all her "wild ideas", even if he did take it as a joke. Although always known for his jesting personality and playful attitude, he never obliged to turn the joke into something more, and Brooklyn did not want to force him. The first few times she tried, Peter threatened to tell her mother of the conspiracies, as he called it.

And he wasn't lying.

What was so horrid about faction transfer? Her sister switched, why not follow in her footsteps?

Peter would never understand, especially under the influence of being a leader. But they remained friends outside of school when he wasn't hanging around those dopey, rugged kids he called buddies. Oliver and Molly were misfits that belonged nowhere but behind somebody's back. Being lead was one thing, but taking direct orders was another. Peter was not like them, he was different, but controlling no less.

At least she still had Vanessa, a girl who played according to the rules just a little more than Peter, which wasn't saying much. If she wasn't labeled Candor, anybody could mistake her lack of common sense for bravery. But Vanessa was not interested in the dauntless fast life, and her true, considerate honesty was something to admire.

Her only real friends were trouble-making junkies that rebelled without the attention. If that's what real was, Brooklyn was grateful to have such friends. Maybe when Peter finally decided that Oliver and Molly were leading him in the wrong direction; and maybe when Vanessa ultimately figured out that stealing an extra spoon from the Candor food-drive kitchens wasn't doing much; maybe then she could find herself in them. And, maybe, they could find reason to do good. Honest good.

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A paper of bold jumbled words was placed in front of the dozy face of Brooklyn just as a stream of pictures began to replace the outside world. She wanted to growl and moan and toss the paper aside to get some well-deserved sleep in, but she knew too well this upcoming exam would mean too much for her. Not even fatigue was worth her attention.

_The Purity War began as a battle for what? Why was the Faction System created? _

The Choosing Ceremony was in two days. She knew a few people who would be participating. Quite a few had an interest in Dauntless, but they were all still unsure. It seemed they were even more confused than her, and she was only fourteen!

_No! Study! _She didn't need to worry about the Choosing Ceremony. Her time would come eventually. For now, history was everything that mattered. Especially when she turned fifteen and the Factions would be their learning priority.

Her sister had been a transfer just last year. You weren't supposed to talk about your results in whatever test they had to go through, she must have gotten Amity. Brooke wasn't too surprised, Amelia had a soft heart when it came to others. But she would sometimes come out with it, blurting whatever she felt. Nobody blamed her, not even Brooke; Growing up in Candor and all, Brooke sometimes wondered why she had never caught on. _Stop it! This is not worth you're failure._

Amity seemed like the perfect home for her now that she thought about it. She could find somebody, work on the farm, raise two kids that would have freedom to transfer to any faction they desired. Live amongst her sister and visit their father every now and then, and her mother also, of course. She didn't need to know why the Factions were here - they've come this far, haven't they?

_Just listen to yourself. It's disgusting._

Brooklyn remembered reading the subtitle of a black and white image of her father's newspaper. It was of a man, no more than that, who had been accused of many things, especially of his role in politics. Erudite seemed to have fun pinning out his problems and difficulties like there was no other past time for them. She did not want to become something like that. A game for the self-indulgent.

A calm image of her sister appeared in her mind. They shared many attributes, including their thick blond hair that was similar to untangling weeds, and a face that seemed to bring ashore new freckles every week, not to mention the fluorescence of their emerald eyes that hid all of their little secrets from Candor. Her sister was perfect in every way. Why couldn't Brooke be like her?

_She left you!_

Brooke begged to see her on Visiting Day. But to no avail, her mother avoided the question at all costs. Candor families were known to be a bit strict with their transferred children, especially with their unofficial, more-or-less neighborly peaceful faction. Their mother was far beyond that line, regardless of being a transfer herself.

Finally coming to a - most arguably - but compromising conclusion, Brooke set aside her study material and pushed her thoughts to the converging ceremony planned two days time. She wasn't going to be there this year, even if it was Candor's year of representation. It wasn't quite her turn yet, so the only thing that this ceremony benefited her in was an empty house for the next couple of days, giving her all the free time in the world.

_I'll be unstoppable with all the studying I can do_, she thought fiercely, grinning a small grin. No school, no Molly, no Oliver, no Truth-Be-Told self-righteous adversaries to bring her down. Just her, Peter, Vanessa, and maybe a couple tag-alongs.

"Ms. Minx!" snapped the only chalkboard of nails wandering around the room, hammering a belligerent wooden yard stick against the already cracked, rickety desk. Ms. Miller, the over-devoted teacher of history, eyed Brooke with an uncomfortable alert glare that smacked her back into a studious concentration. "Pay close attention and maybe this time you can justify the correct emendations of your fellow factions."

She leaned over Brooke's shoulder, squinting at the empty study guide. She knew what Ms. Miller was looking at. It was towards the bottom with the questions about the separate factions and their customs. Nothing was written quite yet, but her history teacher never missed a thing. Especially Brooke's mostly unnoticed reaction to the _obvious _downfalls of all the factions. "Dauntless is not in any way '_ruthless for the fun of it _', if that's what you plan to put down; nor has Candor's hate towards mendacity inflicted insolence onto our _sincere_ habits," she continued as if she had read it from the blank printed paper herself. "I suggest you pull yourself together!"

Where she had tapped out those accurate thoughts, Brooke had no idea. It was almost amusing how trite her attitude could be sometimes. Sometimes it was easy to just sit by herself for a while and think that not everybody there wasn't as honest-crazy.

Brooke bowed her head in discomposure, wishing that she could do something, _say _something, just once before her time was up. The last two years had been like this all day everyday. She_ would_ say something before the day of her Choosing Ceremony.

_No, you won't drop to your knees for them. For_ her _especially._

As Ms. Miller waddled north of her desk to the front of the room, which consisted of a narrow white board and a cramped podium from which she read out of the book, the snickers began to drop one by one in with only the clicks of her heels padding the tile.

Brooke's head hung a quick left where Peter and Molly were still carrying on silently with a snort or two. Her eyes, a thickly green color amplified by the entrance of tears, stared pleadingly at him for only a moment, as he had caught her gaze. She knew he wouldn't give her any alleviating smiles of sympathy, it wouldn't agree with his reputation as the predacious Candor. To her surprise, he had not abandoned her stray glimpse, and instead flickered his own eyes towards the window behind him, cracking a hidden smile across the side of his cheek. She knew what he was referring to and nodded as well, averting her eyes away from the cloudy skies.

This was going to be a long day.

But it was worth it.


	2. Chapter 2

A hollow, estranged sigh surrounded the pale bedroom in disappointment as the edges of the shrunken window pane failed to ward off the fog that crept. A heavy precipitation pounded onto the roof like daggers, sending whirlwinds flying at the thankfully stable brick walls that still seemed to vibrate amongst all of the appliances in the house.

Brooke had unfortunately fallen victim to the unpredicted storm that canceled her plans with Peter and Vanessa in a heartbeat. She sat at the sill of the window where a thick white cloth swirled in slender black design supported and made her weight more bearable. With a towel at hand and skin like a prune, she dried herself off as much as she could so that taking a shower was no option. Today's lesson was much too tiring for her to stand under _more_ aching water for ten minutes.

To make matters worse, she would be on babysitting duty for the next few days. Bobby, her little brother who was as pretentious as the next Candor, was supposedly going to their grandmother's so that she may take some time off as well, but that wasn't happening with the severe storm watch. He would have to stay there until the weather cleared up; who knows how long that would be?

As she leaned her back in towards the wall behind her, a bulky creak whistled below, and a scratching following consecutive. Brooke leaped from the sill, staring down at the floor as if it was caving in, ready to collapse to the first floor. Was the rain finally leaking through? This house was fairly new compared to the others in the neighborhood. Were they going through the same thing? She kneeled down, swiping her hand across the carpet to feel for a soggy spot, but there was nothing different about it now than it was before. Perfectly still, flat, and dry.

Bobby was supposed to be asleep in his bed, maybe he was out playing in the bushes?

Nonsense, Bobby hates the rain. As Brooke steadily balanced herself on both knees, she wearily swiped her hand over the condensed frozen rain on the pane. Just as she did so, she instantly regretted it, for at her window stuck a flagrant, bleary face with dark eyes. For a second only, Brooke feared she had come in contact with a real live demon! That is, until Peter's _not-so-girl-at-all scream_ followed him all the way down to the undoubtedly muddy flowerbed.

At the spur of the moment, she jumped to her feet and ran her fingers along the locks of the window, flicking them forward and struggling to push the darned thing up. A mist from the waterfall outside sprayed her face in a light cloak. There was a strange flip of her insides as Brooke sacrificed the product of her hair to make sure Peter wasn't injured from the fall. A sigh of relief filtered her lungs at the sight of Peter's stupid grin and soppy hair that was lazily pushed back behind his ears so that he could see._ The bushes were there to catch him_.

What was Peter doing here? More skeptically, climbing a two-story house peeking through her window?

"Are you all right?" she hollered over the boom of thunder.

A long groan reverberated out of his throat as his hands flew to his back. "Yeah," he chuckled with a minor cough tailing the end. He stumbled around disoriented for a while before squinting up at her as if the clouds were blinding him.

"Do you want me to meet you downstairs and I'll-." Brooke stopped at the groaning of the house once again, finding that Peter was neglecting her proposal and taking the distance problem into his own hands. His fingers clung to the rail of the window, boosting himself up on the first floor overhang.

His grin remained.

"What are you doing here? You're lucky my mother's not home. You know how she feels about you." Peter grimaced, remembering the last time he had unofficially spoken to Mrs. Minx. She was probably the most unreasonable and fastidious women he had ever met, besides his father, though he was the least bit of feminine. One prank, one measly prank was all it took to cut off all social terms with their daughter. Peter could still feel the warm sun on his back as they walked home victorious - well, sort of victorious. They were held after class to clean up the remnants, leaving them on bad terms with the substitute. But it was just one of those fun risks worth taking. To _him_. Her mother didn't think as much.

"I'm aware. Figured I could try a new door. Sorry 'bout the wait, you scared me for a minute there. Anyways, I suggest you put something warm on, I've got something to show you."

"_I_ scared you?" she mimicked shockingly, somewhat out of breath. "_I_ didn't climb a two-story house and shove my face into a random window!"

"That's considered scary to you now? Can't tell nowadays now that you've stopped talking to me. Now come on, we don't have all night."

Brooke furrowed her thin eyebrows, wiping off the droplets of water that clung to her arm as she hung out the window. A spark zipped up the spine of her back at the thought of her sneaking out. She had done it only a few times before and nearly gotten caught in the process. Him and Vanessa had always gotten her safely home in the nick of time. But she couldn't now. Not with the image of her brother burnt to ashes or with a knife through his chest. Many things could go wrong. "I-I can't, my little brother is still here. And besides, it's raining...and the heater_ just_ started kicking in.

"We'll only be gone for an hour. The little brat can make his own pancake dinner, can't he?" He cracked a grin as she smacked the side of his leathery shoulder "I suggest you grab one of those..._interesting_ sweaters of yours. I won't take no for an answer."

"Tough luck. Me and my _amazing_ sweaters are not moving."

Peter shook his head in the _tsk tsk_ manner, pushing his lips to the side. "I didn't want to have to do this-" His greedy hands reached for the sides of her waist before she could protest, doing his best to ease her body safely on the other side of the wall.

That was one thing she hated about him. In their secret meetings together with Vanessa just discussing life and fooling around Brooke actually felt she could say or do what she pleased without it being used against her. He ruined that for her though, proving that sometimes her opinion didn't matter. Hence why now she had not control in whether she went or not. Most of the conflicts she'd gotten wedged into was because of him, but he always seemed to prevail in the end with little consequences. Her not so much.

"Put me down!" she shrieked, feeling the extra weight of air as the altitude increased. It was hardly a few inches from where she originally stood but twelve feet off of the ground nonetheless. "Peter, I swear!" But with each gasping breath, Peter's features became more explicit. Tears rushed down her cheeks as she imagined her scraggly limbs straggled at odd angles, dead on the ground. "I'll go with you, just _please_ put-" Finally, the feel of something solid beneath her feet shut her up. The shingles were strong, but difficult to balance herself next to Peter as they were placed an inch down from each other the farther they descended. "Peter!" she hissed. "There is no way we can-"

In a flash of lightning, Brooke felt the sting of various scratches around her arms and legs with an unfamiliar lack of air in her lungs. The needles of rain struck at open skin and made its way between two arms that tightly wound themselves around her, holding her so that she could not move unless they moved. She inhaled an anxious breath prior to shoving Peter's arms away from hers.

"Are you okay? a muffled tone rang from beneath her.

She rolled her eyes with a smile she'd never admit to: "Yes."

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Along the lengthy trek of a "short trip", Brooke was rounding the minutes up as best as she could. Was it twenty minutes or ten minutes that only seemed that much? No, impossible. She lost track of the time ever since they passed their usual hang out area. At first she thought Peter lied to get her out there, but just as she was about to stop he took a left and kept moving.

"What did you want to show me?" she finally asked just as the possible thirty minute mark had passed. "Where are we going?

He simply replied with a soundless exhale, "You'll see."

It was maybe another five minutes until they arrived at a thinning of the jungle that had odd wires strung behind the branches. Peter only allowed her to move a few more meters before placing a gentle hand on her shoulder and sending her a look of warning.

Brooke nodded, only able to capture two humongous bars encased by the ground with more wires stretching beyond its distance. What could this possibly be?

Around others, she would have nodded and asked politely where they were, but around Peter her curiosity could flow wherever she wanted it to. Brooke wrapped her fingers around a lame branch that hung above her head, swinging herself to an opening among a tall trunk and attempting to push her thin house flats against the rugged skin of the tree. She expected Peter to grab her by the arm and pull her back, scolding her of some random danger, so when a delicate touch pressed against her hips, her heart migrated north to her throat. Why did things so rebellious give her relief?

"A-Are those the city gates?" she spluttered, finding a seat on a lower branch and shoving a cluster of leaves out of her view. How soaring and strong it appeared surprised her, because beyond that range there lied nothing but barren land with Dauntless soldiers floating among it.

"Sure are."

"It's amazing." Brooke nodded in agreement to herself, glancing at him as he sat to her right on a log of a branch. "Scary, but amazing." She clasped her hands together in her lap and leaned her heavy head onto the bark which was pillowed by her victimized fluffy hair.

Peter mocked her actions, staring down at her conjoined hands reminding him of the disgusting Abnegation emblem.

It was a terrible faction, a faction who lied through their teeth. Politics was anything but selfless, and there they were, running the Government as if the Factions didn't depend on it. And yes, he was talking about the latest news of that Abnegation man. What was his name? Whatever, it didn't matter, all he could remember was "Eating" and that was when he tried reading over the munching of his stupid cousin. _Selfless, my ass_, he continued, silently admonishing the untitled man with a sneer. They needed more people who could make sense of things - kind of like Brooke. Yes, she was more than just selfless. The government needed a true Candor. Brooke enjoyed expressing her thoughts to him. Why not?

He gave his skull a good jolt, rattling the debates somewhere else in the pits of his mind for when he was arguing with Molly. Her hands looked like the Abnegation emblem. So what? Was he really afraid she would leave him for some stupid emotionless faction? Brooklyn was too afraid, she would never leave Candor. Never.

His eyes landed on her weaved fingers again and a burning sensation bubbled up in his face. Without notice, Peter rubbed his own sweaty palms against his black jeans, a million questions and dares skimming over his "better judgment". Her enthusiasm for the Gates had obviously blinded her of what his true intentions were. What kind of approach was this anyway? It made him angry how deliriously blind she could be sometimes. Kind of like her wild idea of leaving Candor because of some damn tradition? What, was she tired of black and white or just him?

But that was for a different place and time.

Peter gritted his teeth and tried to push out all of the negative thoughts. It was about the only thing he could escape to when he was in need of an intelligent conversation. But now was not the time. Now was not _his_ time. It was _their_ time and he would make every second of it count.

He clenched his palms to his side, glancing over at her to see if she had noticed his struggling. No, her eyes were closed with an exhaustion and peaceful smoothness layout amongst her sharp features. Peter could point out the rough edges of tension being worn away in her shoulders and eyes. He convinced himself to smile, reminding himself that she couldn't make any decision for another two years. He could persuade her to stay by then. Not that it would take much.

As the easy mood started to kick in, Peter found himself drifting away himself. _No, I can't do this right now. It'll be another night wasted._ And God forbid. His eyes began to shift back and forth between her hand - then his hand - then to his knee - then back to his own hand - then in another reverse order of some sort. Finally, when he was just centimeters from her hand, a steady breath and straining gaze working together as one, his fear got the best of him and he retreated permanently this time.

Peter crammed his eyelids shut, shoving his hands into his coat pockets with a sour pucker on his lips. Sure, tell him to rob the alcohol bank, no problem. Climb a two-story building? Hell, why not? _Hold her damn hand._ Somebody call 911, his lungs aren't getting enough air! _Damn't, Jorden_, his father would say, _grip that thing between your legs and use it like your supposed to._

There was a sudden tough of light weight on his thigh. He peeked his eyes open, seeing Brooklyn's palm outstretched with an entrance dedicated only to him. She was not looking at him, rather staring at her own thoughts carved into her eyelids with a small smile placed neatly above her chin. Peter couldn't believe it at first but hugged it with no hesitation after the realization knocked at his door.

It was warm like the feeling in his chest. She couldn't leave now, regardless of the snot back at her house. She had to stay with him. That was final.

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A steady beat kept the rhythm of Brooke's shallow breaths as the morning mist flittered around in her nose. It was something she loved to wake up to when it rained, besides the ache in her back. But something seemed off. The aroma was never that strong - unless she had left the window open. Gosh darn't, hopefully she hadn't gotten the cushion wet again. That would have been the third time that month! But then again, she didn't remember falling asleep in her bedroom. And since when did she have an achey back after sleeping on her age old mattress?

Brooke stretched her arms upwards slowly until halfway up they touched something damp and rough. Her eyes shot open, giving the world of green a good survey before snapping her head to the right. Peter was sprawled out onto different branches that kept him balanced while still technically comfortable. His scrawny arms (hey, he had quite the personality, but that might have been it) and wimpy posture helped his dominant mask fall to the ground as his softer features amplified his true self.

No, what was the matter with her? Her brother was at home probably wondering where she had gone! How stupid could she possibly be? Leaving in the middle of the night during a severe rain storm with a complete trouble-maker? She really need to take the time to sort out her priorities.

As reality sunk in, Brooke brought her attention to the thin string she was sitting on, eyeing the ground many feet below. She took a deep breath in, mapping out the possible routes she could take to get down. The trunk had many stubs in it, there shouldn't be too much of a problem.

"Morning," a rugged growl erupted from one side of her. In a panic, Brooke sprang from the branch and nearly face-planted the mud puddle that awaited her below. She had completely bathed herself in mud from the hips down and dressed her arms in long gloves with a splash sprinkling her face. Her nose scrunched upwards with the urge to sink below the surface and disappear before she embarrassed herself even more. To her surprise (which was not a surprise at all, really), Peter jumped down beside her, coating himself in mud as well to claim her bashfulness.

Peter grinned through the collection gathered around his mouth and right cheek. "Is this a new routine? I always wondered what a mud bath felt like."

"Not funny, Peter. If my mother finds out about this, I won't be allowed to leave the house for the next three months." As she mercilessly tried to rub the extra dirt off of her hands onto the hem of her shirt, Peter raised an eyebrow and placed a hand onto her shoulder. She could not deny that his hair that hung limply over his eyes looked notoriously well even with feeble product left.

"I know you don't want to hear this, but, I've really got to get home. Like, _now_. I'm sorry. I-I had fun, I did._ Really_. Um, mind showing me the way back?" She hated to break the real smile that had cracked across his face just seconds prior, but her time was up long ago.

Peter rolled his eyes as if he didn't care. A typical response. "Yeah," he said more stubbornly," I'll walk you home." His eyebrows formed two straight lines across his forehead, returning to his usual, reputational inscrutable expression.

"_No_!" she pronounced too quickly, swallowing a large lump in her throat. "I mean, no thank you, it's just, you've done enough. Thank you for a wonderful time - um - maybe again - sometime? I just need to know the way back."

He nodded. Brooke began to fast walk down the trail, ducking her head as if that would stop the rain from making her hair even more frizzy.

"Brooklyn, wait!" Peter called, catching up to her with an unsure side glance. He tore off his coat, bringing the memory of last night into acknowledgement by sliding it onto her shoulders, revealing another black pull-over. "Here, take it."

She smiled. "Thank you, Peter."

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"Where have you been?" A scowl that hissed from the living room to Brooke's left caught her off guard as she failed to sneak back inside unnoticed. Her mother was not supposed to be home until after the Choosing Ceremony. What emergency could have pulled her from work? "Look at you! You're soaking wet and you've ruined your new skirt! Your brother and I have been searching for you all morning!"

_Morning hasn't passed yet_, she thought incredulously. But she soon ate those words as her gaze flickered towards the living room grandfather clock. _12:04 pm_. She had never slept that late before!

The crows feet that scratched each eye stood out crookedly on the pleading women's face. She wasn't shocked that her mother was wide-eyed with flared arms. Brooke had two jobs. And one of those was to take care of her brother while their parents were out for a few days. If Bobby wasn't passed out on the couch, she would have immediately questioned her mother, but that didn't seem to be the problem. _Full_ problem, anyway.

Silently, Brooke stared down at her soaked flats, wondering how she would get herself out of this one. If her mother found out who she was with, her punishment would be twice as worse as the original setting. However, by the way her eyes looked her body up and down and landed on the shoulders anchor Peter had willingly entrusted her with, Brooke new she was already guilty. There was only two choices now, and that either defied Candor Code or her mother.

"You were with someone, weren't you?" Just what she expected to hear. "I knew I couldn't trust you with this new contumacious teenage attitude you've gathered from that influence of a boy. Go on, who is he? Obviously he's more important than your father's accident. Did you even care enough to bring your cellphone with you?"

The weight of the coat seemed to collapse onto her chest. Her father had an accident and she wasn't there for him? The scold that scarred her mother's hardened expression seemed to diminish once the news carelessly came out. Brooke wasn't sure if it was her own grief being reflected, but the dark circles that drug at her eyelids materialized and her shiny cheeks glistened under the dim light. How had she not noticed it when she first entered? Because I am selfish.

"Is it that Hayes boy?" Her voice softened dangerously. "I told you how I-"

"Yes, Mother, I know. He-He's my friend." There was a knot tied from her esophagus to her trachea as she spoke. "What h-happened to Father?" Brooke tugged at the sleeve of the coat and slung it over the staircase rail to the right.

"It doesn't matter," a low hissed erupted all of a sudden. "That boy is not wise to acquaintance with. He puts these words into your mouth you are utterly amaurotic to! He is not Candor and he is not your friend."

"What happened?" she urged further, pushing the unwanted topic away. "I-I won't leave the house again unattended - I promise. Just tell me what happened!"

Her mother at that moment seemed to relax completely without restraint. Brooke knew she had said the right thing to catch her attention, she just wasn't sure if she would like the outcome. A diminutive smile tiptoed onto her face with hope screaming out for help. "Do we have a deal?"


End file.
